


in my heart it's spring

by givebackmylifecas



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 08:34:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27847770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/givebackmylifecas/pseuds/givebackmylifecas
Summary: “Dinner was nice,” Martín muses.Andrés makes a noise of disagreement. “The wine was sub-par.”“Andrés…”“But it was nice, you’re right,” Andrés allows and Martín laughs, watching his breath cloud and spiral in the frigid night air.Just some awful Christmas fluff
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote
Comments: 12
Kudos: 57





	in my heart it's spring

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fscotts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fscotts/gifts).



> don't ask why i said i was taking a writing break to do uni work and then did this, because i don't have a good answer, i just felt like everyone needed some christmas cheer
> 
> fic title from the song 'it may be winter outside (but in my heart it's spring)' by love eternal

“I still can’t believe you’re wearing that in public.”

Andrés looks down at his coat and then scowls at Martín. “I don’t know what you mean,” he sniffs.

Martín eyes Andrés’ ridiculously expensive overcoat and laughs. “Sure, let’s just hope no one is carrying about red paint to splash that collar.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, this is vintage,” Andrés says. “Besides, it’s warm. I bet you’d rather be wearing this than that skimpy leather jacket.”

Martín laughs and squeezes Andrés’ gloved hand. “It’s hardly skimpy, it’s shearling – it’s not my fault it doesn’t have pockets.”

Andrés wrinkles his cold-reddened nose, tucking Martín’s bare hand into his own pocket.

“Dinner was nice,” Martín muses.

Andrés makes a noise of disagreement. “The wine was sub-par.”

“Andrés…”

“But it was nice, you’re right,” Andrés allows and Martín laughs, watching his breath cloud and spiral in the frigid night air.

They pass a row of houses lit up with an insane amount of colourful lights that reflect off the river on the other side of them. Martín laughs when he looks over at Andrés and sees him eyeing a gigantic inflatable candy cane with displeasure.

“Tacky,” he mutters and Martín laughs harder.

Andrés rolls his eyes and tugs Martín along with him. The wind blows sharply, cutting right through them and Martín shivers.

“How far is this bar? I’m in danger of losing everything you love about me to frostbite.”

That startles a laugh out of Andrés. “I pity our relationship if that’s all you think I love about you. And it’s not that far don’t worry – but may I remind you, you’re the one who wanted to come to London for Christmas, because you wanted snow.”

“Clearly an awful fucking decision since there isn't even any snow,” Martín grumbles.

“Stop complaining,” Andrés says.

He stops walking and pushes Martín up against the wall bordering the river. Martín ignores the cold stone pressed against his lower back in favour of wrapping the fingers of his free hand around the back of Andrés’ neck and drawing him down into a kiss. He keeps his other hand in Andrés’ pocket, desperate to conserve the warmth. Andrés’ nose and cheeks are cold against Martín’s, as is the leather of the glove that’s cupping Martín’s face. Martín’s breath comes in sharp, hot puffs of air as Andrés rubs his nose against Martín’s before finally kissing him.

Martín presses closer, simultaneously tugging Andrés towards him. He can’t feel much of Andrés’ body heat through both of their thick coats, but he feels flushed and warm anyway.

“On second thought, maybe London wasn’t such a terrible idea,” he mumbles, lips inches from Andrés’.

Andrés smirks and presses a hard kiss to his mouth. Martín nips at his bottom lip in retaliation, grinning at him when he pulls away.

“Come on, let’s go find that bar,” Andrés says, leading them along the embankment.

“Or… we could just go back to the hotel and get a drink at the bar there,” Martín suggests, only partly serious.

“Nice try, cariño,” Andrés says. “I’ve heard too much about the whiskey selection to go and drink generic liquor at the hotel.”

It really isn’t that much further to the bar, but the hand that Martín hasn’t managed to sneak into Andrés’ pocket is cold and wind-chafed by time they get there. It's blessedly warm inside and the light glinting off the copper bar casts everything in a golden glow.

They’re pointed towards a table with a corner seat and the minute Andrés returns with their drinks – unpronounceable Scottish whisky that probably cost more than the rent in Martín’s first flat – he plasters himself to Andrés’ side.

“I’m cold,” he says when Andrés raises an eyebrow.

Andrés takes a sip of his drink, but benevolently wraps his free arm around Martín’s shoulders. Martín leans back into him and surveys the bar. It isn’t packed exactly, unsurprising considering the weather and the late hour, but it’s busy enough that he can people watch.

“What do you think their deal is?” he asks Andrés, nodding at the people sitting three tables down. There’s a young woman with long blonde hair sitting almost inappropriately close to an older woman who has a sharp, red bob. Opposite them is a man with silvery hair who looks distinctly uncomfortable

Andrés narrows his eyes, his hand twitching and Martín knows he wants to draw them.

“Mistress and wife confronting the husband?” he suggests and Andrés smirks but shakes his head. “Mother and daughter extorting the same ex-boyfriend for money?”

“Threesome gone wrong, because he forgot to close the door and her dog jumped on them,” Andrés counters and Martín snorts into his whiskey, making himself cough.

The older woman snaps something at the man and gets to her feet. She holds out her hand and the young blonde takes it, intertwining their fingers. Before she goes, she throws a glass of red wine in the man’s face.

“That’s going to stain,” Andrés murmurs.

Martín rests his head on Andrés’ shoulder. “I think that might be the least of his worries, querido.”

“Red wine stains are hard to get out of suede,” Andrés says, gesturing at the man’s dripping jacket and shocked expression.

“Speaking from experience, are we?” Martín asks and Andrés pinches his shoulder in retaliation. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up unpleasant memories.”

“Well, they aren’t all that unpleasant. If I remember correctly, after I had wine thrown in my face, you helped me clean up.” Andrés smiles lasciviously and Martín smirks.

“I did and for the record, Tatiana has terrible taste in wine.”

Andrés pulls a face. “It was a dessert wine, but as I recall you licked up every drop.”

Martín is about to reply when a waiter appears at their table and they shuffle apart. The waiter is maybe in his late twenties at most, with green eyes and olive skin and he grins dazzlingly at them.

“Hi, I just wanted to check whether you needed anything else?” he asks, staring directly at Martín.

“I think we’re alright,” Andrés says, but the waiter continues to smile at Martín.

“Anything at all for you, sir?” he asks, ignoring Andrés.

Martín grins and he can feel the indignation coming off Andrés in waves. “I’m okay, thank you.”

The young man smiles even wider if possible. “Well, if you need anything, my name is Lennon so feel free to ask for me at the bar.”

“I’ll be sure to,” Martín purrs and Lennon blushes before hurrying away. “Well, he was friendly.”

“To you,” Andrés says and Martín turns to look at him.

Andrés rolls his eyes when Martín grins wickedly. “Are you jealous, mi amor?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I’m not threatened by some pale, English jailbait.”

Martín leans in. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then why is your hand so far up my thigh you could give me a prostate exam if you flexed your fingers a little?” he asks with a smirk and Andrés pulls his hand away like he’s been burned.

“You’re a brat,” Andrés says, taking a long sip of his whiskey.

Martín laughs and kisses his cheek. “There’s nothing to be worried about, I didn’t wait ten years to be with you, only to run off with an English waiter after a year.”

Andrés looks mollified and he drains his drinks. “Finish that,” he says, nodding at Martín’s glass. “We’re going back to the hotel.”

Martín does as he’s told, but before they leave he drags Andrés over to the bar.

“Lennon,” he says, leaning against the bar. “Would you be able to get me a bottle of wine? Red please.”

Lennon smiles. “We have a nice Tuscan Merlot if that suits? I can bring it over to your table with some glasses.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Martín says. “We’ll take it to go.”

“To go?” Lennon blinks. Martín nods, smiling and Lennon returns it uncertainly. “I suppose I can do that.”

“Thank you so much, Lennon.”

Martín fishes Andrés wallet from his coat pocket, ignoring his protests and hands over an absurd amount of money including a tip, grabbing the bottle right out of Lennon’s hand.

“Thank you so much, Lennon, have a lovely night,” Martín says and Lennon blushes deeply when he winks at him.

Andrés wraps a possessive arm around his waist and resolutely leads him away from the bar.

“What’s with the wine?” he asks when they’ve stepped out onto the cold street and are hailing a taxi. Martín smirks and Andrés raises an eyebrow. “First date re-enactment?”

“First date re-enactment,” Martín confirms.

“The hotel is going to charge me a fortune for ruining the sheets,” Andrés protests as if he has misgivings, but the way he’s backing Martín against a lamppost says otherwise.

Martín buries his face in Andrés’ neck, mouthing at the bit of skin he can access around the fur collar of his coat.

“A taxi’s pulling up,” Andrés murmurs and Martín reluctantly disentangles himself from him.

Andrés takes his hand and pulls him towards the idling cab.

“I’m glad Tatiana threw wine in your face,” Martín tells him when they’re ensconced in the back seat of the taxi.

Andrés leans in and kisses him, for long enough that Martín starts to wonder about the propriety of having sex in the back of a moving London cab.

“I am too,” Andrés says when he eventually pulls away. “Terrible waste of a nice jacket though.”

-

“I forgot how sticky red wine is,” Martín says, surveying his chest as Andrés crowds him into the shower.

“Sure, that’s why you’re sticky,” Andrés smirks and Martín pushes him under the water before it has time to warm up.

His hair flattens under the spray, darkening further. He blinks water out of his eyes and holds out his hand, pulling Martín towards him when he takes it. His arms slide around Martín’s waist, fingers digging into his lower back. Water runs down his neck in warm rivulets and Martín licks at one of them.

“You’re like a cat,” Andrés comments, hands tracing up Martín’s spine and along the curve of his shoulder blades.

“I’ve been called worse,” Martín shrugs and angles his face up to kiss Andrés.

Andrés kisses him until their fingers start to prune and then Martín chivvies him into soaping them both up.

“Do you think it’s after midnight yet?” Martín asks while Andrés is rinsing out his hair.

He has to wait a moment for an answer and when Andrés is able to open his mouth without risking swallowing soap suds, he nods. “Probably, why?”

Martín steps towards him. “Because then I can wish you a happy Christmas.”

“Oh,” Andrés says with a smirk. “In that case, feliz navidad, mi amor.”

“Merry Christmas, Andrés.”

They don’t quite get a kiss in the swirling snow, but at least the water from the shower is warm.

**Author's Note:**

> come tell me how awful this was in the comments or scream at me on tumblr ([@hefellfordean](https://hefellfordean.tumblr.com)) or twitter ([@angstypalermo](https://twitter.com/angstypalermo))


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